Naming Day (Jake Underwood Book 1) (6 page)

After about five hours of making a nuisance of myself I decided that I should leave and head for home. I was more than ready to see this day end. First there was Jeryn Callisandra and his little job at the court of Twilight, not mention his rather cryptic remarks regarding my “reputation” among the court. Add to that Kevin’s death and today had turned out to be a long and very bad day.

By the time I was ready to leave, most of the police types had gone, but on my way to the door I noticed that Sergeant Bermuda motioned me over. He was still here and keeping his too watchful eyes on the place.

“Mr. Underwood, I have your weapons here.” He indicated a small bag that was tied closed and sealed with runic wax. “I trust that you’ll find everything in the exact order that you surrendered it in. The seal will keep the bag closed until you have left the premises.”

I started to object but he held up a hand. “Just a precaution. Deputy Crosswich insisted, I’m afraid. I would also caution you about coming here armed for the foreseeable future, especially with so much cold iron. We’ll have some men poking around and observing the place for the next few days at least and heavily armed civilians make them nervous. Just a friendly word of advice.”

“Thanks.” I said, feeling anything but thankful. “I’ve got some advice for you. If you let Crosswich run this investigation you will never find out what happened to Kevin. He’s a bigoted ass and nobody here will talk to him. He doesn’t like half breeds or humans and working in the mortal world gives him hives, in short he is just about the worst detective you could assign to this case. Maybe if he had the manpower of a mortal police force he might get lucky, but this far from the court I can’t imagine he has the resources or the skill to bring the case to resolution.”

“Perhaps. But he is in charge of this case it is not for you or me to dispute this fact. We all have our roles to play and our orders to follow.” Bermuda looked anything but happy.

“Maybe he’ll get a break on this case. It’s been known to happen.”  I gave the sergeant a friendly nod and headed home.

I made my way back through the mirror and returned to the mortal world and tried to push my questions out of my mind. It was late and getting later. I was tired and needed to get some sleep. I don’t sleep much, a benefit of my half breed status, but when I need sleep, I need it.

I hopped in a taxi and directed him to my townhouse. I live downtown, at the venerable Houston House, and have for quite a while. I suppose at some point I’ll have to change addresses and ID as it wouldn’t do for someone to notice that I wasn’t aging very fast, but for now I can tough it out, at least for a few more years.

I live on the 25
th
floor in a 3 bedroom apartment with a magnificent view of downtown. About four months ago I had put in a decent alarm system put in after a disagreeable incident with a couple of nasty locals. Naturally, I haven’t needed it since, but I still keep it turned on and working. A security system is like wearing a seatbelt. If you don’t do it all the time, it won’t be of any use when you need it, because you won’t have it on.

I unlocked the door and punched the code that would disarm the system and stepped inside. I knew something was not right the moment I opened the door. I don’t know whether it is an extra sense from being half fey or if it is just an instinct developed after decades as a private detective. In any case, my home had been disturbed.

I pulled my pistol out and started to make a sweep of the room when I heard a clinking sound from kitchen. I made my way past the cluttered bar and peeked past the post through the serving pass through and into the kitchen.

“Hey. You’re out of mayo. All you have is some nasty Ranch dressing that passes for mayo.” Marty Obromowitz stood in the kitchen and offered a scrapped jar for my inspection before unerringly tossing into the nearly full trashcan. He was dressed in a suit that fit, mostly, but he never really looked comfortable. I have always thought that this is what put made a client want to take a poke at him more than anything he actually said.

“Marty! Damnit! How many times have I asked you not to break into my home?” I holstered the Glock and breathed a sigh of relief. With Kevin’s death, I have to confess I was a little on edge. “I could’ve shot you, you know.”

“Nah. You aren’t a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ type of guy.” Marty had a serrated bread knife and was carefully cutting a ham and cheese sandwich into halves. It reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

Marty noticed me making eyes at his meal and raised his eyebrows. “You want one? I can make another, sans mayo of course. There’s plenty of ham”

He seemed oblivious to the fact that I knew there was plenty of ham since I had bought it at from the deli downstairs in the lobby of the building just a few days ago and that there was be a lot less of it than there should be thanks to his breaking and entering skills. “Yeah. You can make it with mustard if you want.”

I pulled up a stool and watched Marty start work on another sandwich on focaccia bread. He layered the thinly sliced virgina baked ham with a few slices of provolone cheese and added tomatoes, onions and thinly sliced black olives and topped the sandwich with a dollop of Dijon mustard.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this late night break-in other than to feed you ham and cheese?” I took the offered sandwich and settled in with beer and some crispy chips. Marty pulled a stool around to his side of the counter and followed suit. I find a cold beer the perfect accompaniment for a late night snack like this. The tang of the Dijon goes well with effervescence of a good beer. “How’d you get in anyway. The guy who sold me that system told me it was a good system.”

“It’s not a bad system. It’s just that I know you too well. You keep a copy of your code on that archaic rolodex you have at work. With the code it’s no problem to get in. That Schlage lock might be a challenge for some, but it and I are old friends.” He smiled and took a bite of his sandwich.

It’s true that there are few locks that Marty can’t pick given enough time. I have seen him take apart some of the most intimidating locks around without breaking much of a sweat. “I’ll have to change the damn code again. You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”

“Well, to be honest, I’m not exactly sure myself.” He look thoughtful and snagged an olive. “I suppose I could say that I finished your case and wanted to deliver the results to you right away. It’s true, but that’s not the reason.”

“Already? That was damn fast. You’ve only had the case a few hours.”
              “Dave, idiot that he is, wasn’t that far off. He had the right idea, but the wrong approach. I’ll get you a written report, with my bill, tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” I said sardonically.

“Hey, it could be worse. I could have milked this for a couple of days but I didn’t, I tied it up as quickly and as cheaply as possible.” He shrugged.

“Marty.” I began, “You could have told me any of this tomorrow. It doesn’t explain why you are sitting in my kitchen at midnight, eating my ham and drinking my beer. Tell me the real reason you’re here”

“Okay.” He nodded and looked at me for moment, perhaps considering what to say next. “Did you know that your office is under surveillance?”

A cold chill ran down my back. “Are you sure? Scratch that. Of course you’re sure. You wouldn’t have said something if you weren’t. Where from?”

“That’s the thing. There are two teams on you. One is setup across the street in the opposite building, the other is being ran from roadwork crew down in the street.”

“Are they tag teaming me or are they separate crews?”

He smiled. “That’s a good question. I can’t be positive of course without asking them, but I would guess that they are separate. At first I thought they were working together. But eventually I came to believe that they are two separate teams on the same target.”

“First, the guys across the way are pretty clumsy. They were dead easy to spot. You would have seen them the first time you looked out your window. Either they don’t care if you notice them or they are awful.” He paused and pulled on his beer. “The other crew is a lot better. In fact, I almost didn’t spot them. Something just seemed wrong with the way they were working on the street. The truck that there were driving says that they are from Reliant energy and it sure seemed like they were working in the utility access tunnel until I realized that most of the tools I could see were for street repair and not utility repair.”

“That’s pretty thin. They could just be the road crew getting ready to tear it up.”

“Yeah, I thought of that, but it was after five and most crews don’t work late and there was a guy sitting in the truck, supposedly drinking coffee, but I noticed he had an earpiece and a camera. It was subtle, but they were definitely watching. It took me a half hour to be sure. I identified one of the guys working the crew. He’s local talent, works for Clearstar mostly, but I have used him myself on occasion, he’s good and expensive. You might know him, Chris McNeely?”

I nodded. “He does a lot of wiretapping and unintrusive measures and countermeasures. A very good surveillance man.”

“It’s none of my business; I suppose. You know I mind my own business.” Marty slyly said. “But whatever you’re into is attracting a lot of attention and not the kind of attention you want. Either you have a lot of different people upset with you or the first team is meant to be spotted so you won’t notice the other guys. In any case, it means a lot of heat. Is it anything I could help with? No charge.”

I was touched. Marty offering pro bono work was almost a declaration of love. Still, I couldn’t take him up on it. The only hot things I had going right now had to do with my status as a half breed fey and I couldn’t bring Marty into that.

“Thanks Marty. That means a lot to me, but I can handle it.” I took a bite of my sandwich and considered my options, such as they were.

“Is this part of whatever this big secret you’ve got?” Marty jabbed quickly and his touch was right on target.

“What secret?” I asked as innocently as I could.

“Well, of course I don’t know what it is. If I did it wouldn’t be a secret.” Marty smiled. “Still, I am a detective after all and you can’t expect me not to notice things. It’s not like I follow you around or anything, but I have noticed that your caseload is pretty light for the amount of money your firm brings in. Plus, there are times when you just vanish with no explanation to anyone, not even Adriana. I’ve even noticed that sometimes when you come back you’re in pretty bad shape. You never did offer an explanation on how you got that lovely scar on your arm.”

“Hunting accident”, I offered.

“Uh-huh. Well, I don’t like to pry, but whatever you’re into might just be coming back to bite you in the ass. If you need my help, I’ll give it, but only if you spill whatever is you’re keeping hidden. I can’t help if I don’t know what is going on.”

“Marty, I just can’t. It’s not that I don’t trust you, I do. But this isn’t something you can really help with and if you knew it would put you at risk.” I came as close as I ever had to telling him. But in the end, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t think of single time when bringing a normal person into my world did anything but make it more complicated for me and for them. Hell, it had even proved fatal to them on occasion.

“Well, you know best about your own work. But don’t take this lightly. That second team ain’t kidding. They’ve got that lean and hungry look like sharks circling a swimmer. Be careful. If you need a place to crash or if you need help, you know how to reach me.” He finished his beer and got up.

“I appreciate it Marty. I’ll keep it in mind.” I took another swig of beer. “Oh Marty? Could you lock up on you’re way out? Just use your picks.”

He smiled a big grin and disappeared into the hall.

I had hoped that the next morning would bring clarity to my increasingly crowded plate. It didn’t. I seldom have dreams and very few hang in mind until I wake. When I do, it’s significant. Actually, for the Fey, even half Fey like me, dreams can be very important. They are often used as a form of communication or even a teaching device. At the Court of Twilight, there is even a whole House that specializes in Dreaming and providing dreams to their patrons.

              In my case, it can be difficult to tell the difference between a sending, as a dream message is often called, and a bit of undigested gristle or gravy that didn’t sit well.

              My nightmares started with a litany of old scars that have never fully healed. There were dreams of people that I had failed in the past, mistakes in judgment that had cost those around me too much. Even things I thought I had dealt with came back to trouble me. I had once been involved in a missing person case. The trouble was that I wasn’t the only person looking. A couple of heavy hitters showed up and wanted to share facts of the case or rather, they wanted me to share and they would listen. I declined and the conversation went downhill from there. They felt that they could be more “persuasive”.  So they began to persuade me. Forcefully.

              I have heard people talk about how after a while you can only experience so much pain and then your body begins to block it out. That may be true in a trauma or a fight, but when a professional decides to administer pain, they know exactly how much pain to inflict and how to make it last. They can walk that fine line between doing just enough damage to give you agony but not so much that you are damaged beyond repair. If they hurt you too much, you know there is no reason to tell them anyway because you will never recover, so to hell with them. The trick is to inflict just enough damage so that the victim thinks they can get over this, that they can survive this, if the torture stops.

              These guys were masters of their craft. They took no enjoyment in what they did. In some ways that made it worse, like it was matter of complete indifference to them what they had done or could do. They just kept hitting. They would find a tender spot and work it until it had been sensitized and then they would move on.

              After a while my world would get a little blurry and they would take a break and let me recover enough so that I could be sensible to realize exactly how much pain they were administering. I am sure that if I had known anything I would have told them, but I didn’t know shit. That made it worse. I didn’t even have any way to stop them or even the pride of resistance, just an unending afternoon of agony. When they stopped, they just looked at each other and apparently reached the conclusion that I really didn’t know anything or that I wouldn’t break. They muttered to each other, packed their tools and cut me free to fall to the blood splattered floor. I have never known why they just didn’t kill me. I guess that nobody told them they had to, so they didn’t.

              When I dream of that day, which thankfully isn’t often, I dream that they come back and decide that I just need more encouragement or just to finish the job. Sometimes I dream that they don’t even ask any questions, just start to slowly vivisect my body, muscle and joint at a time. 

              The worst dream was of Kevin following me with his severed head gripped in his goblin’s hand. Its lips would move but it had no air to speak with, so no sound would come out. But even though it couldn’t speak, I knew that Kevin blamed me for sending him to his death.

              All those phantasms filled my night made rest impossible. In typical dream logic, things would shift from one terrible image or realization another.

              I was blurry at breakfast and two strong cups of Kono coffee barely dispelled the afterimages of my restless night. My breakfast of slightly burned toast and runny eggs was slowly congealing into a sticky mass of white and yellow atop a lightly blackened piece of bread. I hated to admit it, but those dreams had felt pretty real. Too real. It could have been a magical sending.

              I hate magic.

You would think magic is full of wonder and, well, magic. But it’s not. It’s full of tedious ceremony and endless rituals punctuated by nausea and terror if you actually get a will working to succeed. Unless you are really good, it’s not reliable. Even if you are good at it, there is a price to pay. Usually in someone else’s blood. All so you can break the rules or reach out and touch someone without being seen. I’ve seen people use magic when something mundane would work far better and with less cost. People who use it, tend to think that there is no other tool to use. I don’t doubt its efficacy, heck I use it myself, but it can become a crutch and a trap.

As I finished my coffee, I thought about the tangled mess I had in front of me. I suppose it was just barely possible that Jeryn Callisandra’s problem, the Naming Day ceremony, which was a little over 4 days away, Kevin’s murder and the surveillance teams weren’t connected, but I didn’t buy that for a minute. When trouble comes from the Courts, it came in clumps. There is even supposed to some mystical rule about this kind of thing but I never could understand it or remember, let alone believe in it.

I find the best way to deal with a tangle like this is to pull on a string and see how far it will unwind. When it stops unwinding I pull on another until I get some kind of response.  My gut told me that the surveillance teams were related to Kevin’s murder. I could see one of the team’s belonging to Crosswich. It would certainly be his style to stake my office out hoping to get some clue. He did love paper work and bringing in a crew to watch me would give him someone to blame his lack of progress on. I was glad I wasn’t a subordinate under him.

The other team was much more worrisome. From Marty’s description, they could be trouble.  I would have to take a look them myself.

              My Naming Day was four days away and Kevin had been my best source for stirrings on at Court. With him gone, there really weren’t a whole lot of a people who could feed me current data about the current situation there. I hated going into this thing blind, but at the moment I couldn’t see any way to avoid that. I had a hunch that everything was tied up with the Naming Day ceremony in some bizarre knot, but without more data there was no way to untangle it.

              Jerryn Callisandra’s missing ward and his overt hints to an unearned reputation that I knew nothing about bothered me more. I didn’t know if he was on the level or not, but my contacts in the Court of Twilight were even more meager than the Court of Dawn. I really couldn’t see getting into a throw down match with Twilight boys based on what some smarmy client had to offer. Dalia, wherever she might be, would have to wait upon the arrival of further information.

              Kevin’s murder was the key and the one thing that had to be resolved. First, Kevin was a friend and you can’t let a friend get killed without doing something about it. Obviously, whoever the bastards who did this were, they had to pay for his death, in kind. In kind being their blood pooling about their bullet perforated bodies. I didn’t have that many people I called friends among the Fey and I wasn’t willing to lose one without doing something about it.

              Besides, as much as I hoped that my favor hadn’t put him into a position that had got him killed I had a horrible feeling, despite what I told the cops, that it did. As long as Crosswich was the cop investigating the case, it wouldn’t be a problem, but if the hard eyed sergeant Bermuda took over, things could get dicey.

              Yes, Kevin’s murder was definitely the place to get started. I doubted I would get anywhere by stepping into the same holes that the Sheriff’s men had already trampled as in general it’s a bad idea to try and duplicate what cops do. They have a lot more resources than a I do and if enough men, in the loosest sense of the word, would do the trick, then there was little that I could offer. In this case, I didn’t have much choice. I was essentially my own client and the only source of information I had was the employees at the Silver Tree and whatever I could turn up on my own. I guess it’s possible that the Sheriff’s crew might find who killed Kevin, but I doubted it. They only suspected that my little favor had gotten him killed, I was near certain of it.

              On top of all that, there is the disproportionate amount of official pressure coming from somewhere at Court to get closure on the case. It was odd enough for some Lord to care about an expatriate Goblin bar owner, but if they were really interested in finding the guilty party, they wouldn’t have left Crosswich in charge. It didn’t make sense. At least not with what I knew, which I confess wasn’t a whole hell of a lot. It seemed that was a ton of pressure to do something, but not too much. 

              No, there was definitely something wrong with the way this was coming together. Besides, letting the cops do the work didn’t really help me. If they catch the guy, whoever they might be, they sure won’t share that information with me. Besides, who knows what they might spill. I had to get to whoever did this before the Sheriff’s men; first, to find out what was going on and second to make sure that they pay for what they had done to Kevin.

              I called my office to tell them that I wouldn’t be available for any case work for the rest of the week. A private case that I was undertaking as a favor was the best way I could explain it to Adriana. It wasn’t unusual for me to vanish for a few days so Adriana would accept it. I told her that Marty would be by to submit a bill and a report which she should retype and send to the client with our bill. Adriana knows how to handle these things, which is just another of the things that makes her invaluable to me. She would keep the boys at the office on track and on point.

              My first stop would have to be the Silver Tree and see if a night had produced any information that might give me a lead on where to go. They say that criminals always return to the scene of the crime. I never found it so, but sometimes they do try and find out what the hounds know about the fox, giving the hounds the scent.  Besides, I wanted to make sure that everything was running smoothly.

              The Silver Tree was and is usually mostly deserted at this hour. The regulars have all gone home and only the senior staff and the cleaning crew are in. I made my way through the silvered pane and was only a little surprised to see a Sheriff’s man, Corbellium, sitting at a table working on some notes and watching the activity at the bar. I barely glanced his way as I searched for Bolan. Corbellium, or Corey for short, wasn’t a bad guy. He was a stickler when he had to be and knew when to bend, in other words, good police. He looked up at me and I gave him a brief nod. I turned my attention back to my search for Bolan Spiers, the concierge.

              I found him talking to the night time bartender, Ben Jefferson.  As I approached I could hear Ben trying to delicately explain why he preferred a nighttime shift to Bolan. Apparently, Bolan wanted him to take over the dayshift. Ben didn’t seem interested and his discomfort was plain on his pale face. Ben was pale, for black man. I always supposed that this was due to his vampirism and never getting any sun. Bolan seemed a little confused so I decided that Bolan was not privy to his employee’s exact nature that made him such an outstanding nighttime bartender and what would make him an equally lousy daytime bartender. I thought it was time for Bolan to learn about it.

              “I’m sorry. I would rather keep my nighttime shift.” Ben seemed a little nervous. He always had been a little skittish about his vampire status.

              “I can offer you extra money.” Bolan insisted. “I need someone I can trust here in the daytime while I’m getting some sleep and dealing with other tasks. I can’t go without sleep.”

              “It’s not the money, although I could use more of that. Believe me, I can sympathize with your needing to get some sleep during the day, but I just can’t do it.” Ben looked sheepish.

              “Why? I don’t want to go outside the to get someone who will have to work largely unsupervised”

              “Because he’s a vampire.” I said. Ben looked shocked and little hurt that I had blurted out his secret. “I’m sorry Ben, but Bolan has a right to now since he’s running the place now.”

              “A vampire!?” Bolan looked a little pale. “An honest to god vampire?”

              “Yes, but it’s not what you think. He doesn’t drink human blood, no vampire who wants to live long, and they can and do live a long time, wants to get hooked on that stuff.” I offered.

              Ben looked up and met Bolan’s eyes. “It’s true. I am a vampire but there are a lot of misconceptions about vampires. Forget all those stories you read and hear about us. We do have a severe allergy to light that will kill us if exposed to it for more than a few hours, but all those tales about garlic, crosses, running water and being invited in are bunk.”

              “Mr. Underwood, I’ve seen a lot of weird things since I started working here, but is he really a...a vampire?”

              “Yes, but don’t worry most vampires are as harmless as any other average joe. Sure, you get an occasional loony like Barlow or Vlad Tepes but those guys are about as rare as serial killers are in the human population. Hell, more rare since most vampires are firm advocates of the Compact and live at the Court of Twilight.”

              “But do you drink blood?” Bolan looked to Ben and Ben’s face clouded.